Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 37

Crookedstar sat back on his haunches, pressing a hollow into the snow, and let Loudbelly and Piketooth pass.

“At least we know why you’re called Loudbelly,” Piketooth teased. “It’s been rumbling since we left camp.”

Loudbelly scooped up a pawful of snow and hurled it at his Clanmate. “I’ve had half a sparrow in two days!” he reminded him. “Of course it’s rumbling!”

“We’ll catch something before we go home,” Crookedstar mewed hopefully as they trudged into the willows above the camp. He tried to sound cheerful, but he hated watching his Clan grow so scrawny.

“We’ve been out since dawn and we haven’t caught anything yet,” Loudbelly muttered. The sun was already sliding toward the horizon.

The river had been frozen for half a moon, the ice too thick to break. Without fish, they’d had to rely on meager pickings from the woodland. Crookedstar had forgotten what a full belly felt like.

“You must eat and stay strong for your Clan,” Willowbreeze begged him every night. But Crookedstar could not take food from his Clanmates. He’d rather starve.

Loudbelly squawked as he disappeared into the snow. He struggled back to the surface, cursing. “Why do I find every dip and hollow?”

“Let me go first.” Crookedstar bounded ahead, throwing up snow in his wake.

“Thanks a lot!” Piketooth ducked as his leader sprayed him. “I wasn’t quite cold enough.” A growl edged his mew.

Tempers were as short as the days. “Hungry bellies make angry hearts,” as Birdsong liked to say.

Tanglewhisker had snapped at her the last time she’d said it. “Can’t you think of something helpful to say for a change?”

For once Birdsong had no quick reply. She simply stared at her mate, her eyes dark with pain. Like the rest of her Clan, she was still mourning the death of Graypool’s kits. The whole Clan moved quietly around the camp now, not knowing how to comfort the grieving queen. The two kits, Splashkit and Morningkit, had been born sickly, and had never grown strong, dying less than a moon after they’d been kitted.

Graypool had been very ill afterward. Mudfur and Brambleberry had taken turns to sit with the ailing queen and now she was finally strong enough to leave the camp from time to time, ranging out over the frozen river and yowling her heartbreak out loud.

“She’s calling to them,” Crookedstar had heard Shimmerpelt whisper to Piketooth. “She knows they won’t be coming back but I think she believes they can hear her from StarClan.”

Crookedstar had paused from his washing and pricked his ears, his heart twisting as he heard Graypool’s heartbroken cry echo eerily across the river.

He shook away the memory. “Come on!” He scrambled up the slope to a clearing ringed by rowan and willow. Piketooth struggled after him, through the churned snow.

Loudbelly tasted the air. “Squirrel!” The young warrior dropped into a crouch. A gray squirrel was scampering between the willows, its tail rippling behind it. As it skittered up a trunk, Loudbelly sprang after it, wallowing through the snow. He jumped up the tree and chased the squirrel along a slender branch, shaking clumps of snow on to Crookedstar and Piketooth.

“Watch out!” Piketooth crossly shook snow from his pelt as Loudbelly leaped from one tree to another. But the squirrel darted upward, safe in the highest branches, and bounded away, tree to tree, leaving Loudbelly hanging from a narrow branch with his hind legs churning empty air.

“Frog-dung!” Loudbelly let go and dropped into the snow. He sat up, shaking it from his ears.

Crookedstar shook his head. “Tough luck,” he meowed. If only Oakheart were with them. He was fast and light enough on his paws to cross the snow without breaking the frosty crust. But Oakheart was resting. A vicious battle with Thistleclaw three moons ago had left him with a wrenched leg that still ached in the cold weather.

Crookedstar wished he had been there to protect his brother. He’d trained in the Dark Forest, too, and he’d have known a few of Thistleclaw’s battle moves. Crookedstar shuddered at the memory of that dank, stinking place. Rumors from the border hinted that Tawnyspots was dying; ThunderClan would need a new deputy soon, and even though Adderfang had been carrying out Tawnyspot’s duties during his illness, Thistleclaw’s name was the one whispered at the Gatherings. Crookedstar closed his eyes, dreading the thought of a Dark Forest cat becoming leader of a Clan. A shower of snow splattering against his muzzle jerked him back to the present.

“Mouse!” Loudbelly squealed as Piketooth shot away, skimming the snow, fast as a fish. He slammed his paws on it as it darted toward the roots of a rowan and killed it with a bite.

“Let’s get back to camp,” Crookedstar meowed. It was getting colder and all the cats were shivering.

“But we’ve only got a mouse,” Loudbelly argued.

“It’ll have to do,” Crookedstar told him. “We’ve been out all day. It’s freezing. We don’t want to get sick.” He knew Brambleberry’s supply of herbs was dangerously low.

As they padded into camp, Piketooth carried his mouse to the fresh-kill pile and dropped it next to a dead frog, which was already stiff with frost. Willowbreeze was hurrying toward the nursery, feathers trembling in her jaws.

Crookedstar crossed the clearing and stopped beside her. “Who needs feathers?”

Willowbreeze’s eyes shone. She beckoned him forward with a nod. Squeezing in after his mate, Crookedstar felt his mouth fall open in astonishment. Graypool was curled in her nest with two kits squirming at her belly.

Kits?

Willowbreeze quickly tucked the feathers around the kits and sat back, purring. “It’s a blessing from StarClan!”

Crookedstar closed his mouth, speechless.

“I found them.” Graypool anticipated his first question as she gently nuzzled the kits, encouraging them closer.

“A tom and a she-kit,” Willowbreeze announced proudly. The tom was pale gray and mewling; the dark gray she-kit stared around the den, her eyes bright with fear.

Crookedstar leaned forward and touched the she-kit’s ear with his muzzle. “Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe here.” He narrowed his eyes at Graypool. “What do you mean, you found them? Where?”

“At the border.” Graypool wrapped her tail tighter around the kits. “A loner must’ve abandoned them. It’s a blessing I discovered them before they froze.” She looked up with a gleam of defiance in her yellow eyes. “I’m going to keep them and raise them as my own.”

“But what if their mother comes to find them?”

Graypool flattened her ears. “A mother who abandons her kits won’t come back to claim them.”

Willowbreeze pressed against Crookedstar. “StarClan must have led Graypool to them.”

Fallowtail squeezed through the entrance. “Can I see them?”

Lakeshine peered in, Softwing crowding behind her.

“Come on.” Willowbreeze began shooing away her Clanmates. “These kits need rest.” She guided Fallowtail out of the nursery. “They’re still weak from their ordeal.”

Crookedstar hopped out after them, glancing back at Graypool. The gray queen was staring at the kits as if they were the only things that mattered in the world. Outside the nursery, Willowbreeze fended off questions from her Clanmates.

“They’re strong and healthy, just frightened.”

“I expect you’ll be able to see them in the morning.”

“Graypool’s smitten with them, and I think they like her.”

Voleclaw nudged Crookedstar. “Willowbreeze seems to have everything under control,” he purred. “She’ll make a good mother herself one day.”

Crookedstar hardly heard him. What if the loner comes back? Graypool’s heart would break to give them up. Would a loner be prepared to fight for her kits? Would it be fair to make her fight?

What would Hailstar have done?

Distracted, Crookedstar padded toward the willow.

“Have you seen them?” Oakheart limped through the snow and stopped beside him.

“Seen them?” Crookedstar was still lost in thought, but he noticed the limp. “Are you all right? I thought you were resting that leg.”

“It’ll be fine.” Oakheart shrugged away his concern. “What about the kits? Aren’t they great? Just what Graypool needed. It really is a blessing from StarClan.”

“Then you think we should keep them?” Crookedstar searched his brother’s bright gaze.

“Don’t you?” Oakheart frowned. “Are you worried the mother might come and claim them?”

Crookedstar nodded. “They’re not our kits. Can we really decide their fate?”

“What else can we do?” Oakheart pointed out, with a hint of anger in his mew. “Take them back and leave them where Graypool found them? They’d die before moonrise.”

Crookedstar looked up at the clear evening sky. The setting sun had stained it pink. A frost was setting in. Oakheart was right: The kits wouldn’t survive long outside. “I suppose we need new kits.” They had lost so many. First Brightsky’s, then Softwing’s, and finally Graypool’s.

“Why don’t I go and guard the place Graypool found them, and if a loner turns up I’ll bring her back to camp?” Oakheart offered. He sounded tense, as if he was furious at the idea of these kits being claimed by the cat that had abandoned them.

Crookedstar pricked his ears. “Good idea.” He glanced at Oakheart’s wrenched leg. “I’ll send Cedarpelt to relieve you at moonhigh,” he promised.

“And if no loner comes, we can keep them?” Oakheart leaned forward. It must be cold. He was trembling.

“Yes.” Crookedstar rubbed his frozen nose with a paw. “They’ll never know anything but RiverClan, and Graypool deserves to raise a litter.”

Was that relief flashing in his eyes? Crookedstar swallowed back a purr. Perhaps it was time Oakheart got a mate of his own.

A moon passed. The snows melted and new buds softened the stark willow. As the sun slid toward the distant forest, Crookedstar sat at the edge of the clearing, his belly full, and watched Willowbreeze tugging a bulrush along the ground for the kits to chase. Stonekit scampered after it, his fluffy tail sticking straight up. He was a stocky little kit. Crookedstar could imagine him diving for fish already. Mistykit was slender and pretty. She watched the bulrush twitch, her clear blue eyes narrowing, before she pounced, landing right on top of it.

“Hey!” Stonekit complained as his littermate sat proudly on her catch. “Graypool!” He called to the queen watching fondly from outside the nursery. “She’s doing it again!”

“Now, now.” Graypool padded over and nosed Mistykit gently away from the bulrush. “Let Stonekit have a turn.”

Willowbreeze left the game and padded across the clearing. She sat beside Crookedstar. “They’re going to make good hunters,” she meowed. “They already hook their claws under the bulrush as though they’re catching a trout. Anyone would think they were Clanborn.”

The reed bed trembled and Oakheart climbed from the river, a fat carp in his jaws. He carried it over to the kits. Graypool’s eyes lit up. “Look what Oakheart’s caught for you!”

Mistykit reared up, reaching for the fish with her tiny front paws. When Oakheart dropped it, she started gnawing at it hungrily.

Stonekit wrinkled his nose. “It smells fishy.”

“I know, dear.” Graypool lapped between his ears. “That’s because it’s a fish.”

Stonekit sniffed at it tentatively before taking a bite. “Can’t we have mouse instead?” he asked, his mouth full.

“Another time, precious,” Graypool promised.

“Fox!” Sedgecreek skidded into camp, her pelt bushed up.

Crookedstar leaped to his paws. “Where?”

“Downstream, by the hawthorns!” Sedgecreek circled Crookedstar. “I could smell it.”

“But you didn’t see it?” Crookedstar’s hackles smoothed. “It may have passed through already.”

Timberfur hurried from beneath the willow. “Should I organize a patrol?”

Crookedstar had made him deputy when he’d returned from the Moonstone. Oakheart would have been his first choice, but RiverClan owed the old warrior a reward for his long loyalty and courage. Crookedstar knew Oakheart wouldn’t mind waiting his turn.

“I’ll go and check,” Crookedstar told him.

“Alone?” Timberfur’s eyes darkened. “Is that wise?”

“If I pick up fresh scents, I’ll come back for help,” Crookedstar promised. Foxes rarely strayed from ThunderClan’s shady forests, especially once the river ice had melted. The scent had probably drifted across the border and startled Sedgecreek.

He padded out of camp, following the grassy path for a few paces before hopping through the bushes on to the shore. The river washed the pebbles, low now that the snowmelt had gone. The wooded banks were bright with new growth. Crookedstar breathed in the familiar scent of fresh leaves and soft earth. Fish stirred the surface of the river and there were spiky claw prints in the mud where a moorhen had walked.

Crookedstar followed the river along the border of his territory. Reaching the hawthorns, he climbed the bank and tasted the air. There was no sign of fox, just the smell of primroses on the warm evening breeze. And something else. Crookedstar froze.

Mapleshade!

He snapped his head around, scanning the riverbank, hackles high. His heart lurched as a hawthorn bush quivered and Mapleshade stepped out.

Her eyes were dark, her orange-and-white pelt sleek. “You fool!” she hissed. “Where is your loyalty to your Clan now?”

Crookedstar turned and began to walk away. He didn’t want to fight her. He just wanted to get away from her. She darted in front of him, blocking his path.

He unsheathed his claws. “Leave me alone!”

“Someone has to warn you!”

“Warn me about what?” He stared at her.

“You trust what any cat tells you!” she spat. “Mouse-brain!”

Crookedstar growled.

She eyed him malevolently. “Those kits!”

“What about them?”

“Do you really think a loner left them in the snow? Is it just a coincidence they look like RiverClan cats? That they pounce like RiverClan cats?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Are you stupid or blind or both?” The fur lifted along her spine. “Why do you think your brother spends all day hunting for them? Watching them as if they’re his next meal? He’s more attentive than most fathers—but then he is raising them without their true mother.”

Anger pulsed beneath Crookedstar’s pelt. “I’m not going to listen to any more of your lies! Oakheart has no kits! He’s never even had a mate!”

Mapleshade’s eyes glinted. “Not in RiverClan.” She jerked her head toward the far bank. “Look across the river, you fool!”

Crookedstar stared at the trees lined along ThunderClan’s bank. He suddenly felt cold. “What are you saying?” He snapped his gaze back to Mapleshade but the Dark Forest warrior had gone.

Crookedstar whirled around and raced back along the shore. Don’t be dumb! He leaped on to the grassy path. It’s just more of her lies! There’s no way these kits have anything to do with Oakheart! He skidded into the clearing out of breath, scanning the camp. “Oakheart!”

“What’s going on?” Oakheart darted, bristling, away from the nursery.

Crookedstar lowered his voice, suddenly aware that he was frightening the kits. “Come with me,” he ordered quietly.

Oakheart followed him through the reeds to the shore below the camp. “What is it?” He climbed onto a smooth rock and sat down, wrapping his thick, tawny tail over his paws. “Something’s wrong.” Worry sharpened his amber gaze.

Crookedstar was aware of the river sliding past and the birds chattering in the trees behind them. A kingfisher was sitting in the branch of an overhanging willow, studying the water for the tiniest flicker of a fish tail. Crookedstar took a deep breath. “Are they your kits?”

Oakheart stared at him. There was no twitch of his whiskers. No flick of his ear. His pelt was as smooth as fish scales. “Yes.”

“And Bluefur’s?” Who else can it be?

“Yes.” Pain flashed in Oakheart’s eyes. “She gave them up to become ThunderClan’s deputy.” His voice dropped to a pained whisper. “She couldn’t let Thistleclaw take over.” He shrugged. “She didn’t say why, just that her Clan needed her. She was so certain that she was doing the right thing, Crookedstar! What else could I do?”

Should I have told Sunstar what I knew about Thistleclaw? Crookedstar scraped his claws through the pebbles. It would have helped Bluefur. She might have kept her kits. Instead I left her to stop Thistleclaw by herself.

The secrets he’d been carrying suddenly felt like stones in his belly. If he dived in the river now, they’d drag him to the bottom.

Oakheart leaned forward. “What are you going to do?” A challenge edged his mew, the challenge of a father willing to do anything to protect his kits.

“Nothing.”

Oakheart blinked.

“We’re going to raise them as RiverClan,” Crookedstar went on. “They are our kin, after all.” He looked down at his paws. “But I wish you had confided in me. You know you can trust me with anything.”

Oakheart sighed. “I guess we all have our secrets.”

Crookedstar lifted his gaze and stared into his brother’s clear amber eyes. If only you knew.